


whatever comes of you and me

by heliodor



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst, Clothed Sex, Crossdressing, First Time, Love, M/M, Making an Effort (Good Omens), Mutual Pining, Temptation, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-29 21:38:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19838995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heliodor/pseuds/heliodor
Summary: Crowley drops in on Aziraphale uninvited for an after hours chat to discuss their godson of sorts. Things escalate rather quickly and quite blasphemously from there, but it should be known that Aziraphale's reasoning is purely logical and not in any way dictated by personal desire. He is an angel after all.





	whatever comes of you and me

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Now I'm Here" - Queen:
> 
> "Whatever comes of you and me  
> I'd love to leave my memory with you  
> Now I'm here (now I'm here)  
> Think I'll stay around, around, around, around"
> 
> \---
> 
> The fishnets exist. Look up Leg Avenue brand snake fishnets and get a pair for yourself. (BOGO 50% off at official source at time of posting though they are slightly cheaper elsewhere. [Click this link for the lazy.](https://legavenue.com/products/8143-snake-fishnet-tights))
> 
> This fic is dedicated to the person who cursed me with the knowledge that those exist. You know who you are. You know what you did.

There was something rather strange about Nanny Ashtoreth, so strange in fact that Aziraphale could scarcely think of her as Crowley even though he knew that she was just a disguise. Sometimes he would catch her staring at him across the grounds with her lipsticked mouth pressed into a thin, flat line, and it would make him shiver. It was like she didn’t even know him. No. That wasn’t right.

No, it was like she wanted something, and Aziraphale didn’t know what.

\---

As soon as Aziraphale was safely ensconced in the rooms he was renting as Brother Francis he let his disguise drop with a sigh. He had to admit he’d gone a little overboard with the teeth and the eyebrows and the ruddy complexion, but he had so wanted to look the part of a proper English gardener. Unlike  _ someone _ who had merely recalled a movie he’d once watched to decide his role, Aziraphale had  _ researched _ _._ He’d determined the role of a gardener would be the perfect way to instill a sense of love for and wonder about the world in young Warlock, and then he’d carefully crafted the perfect humble country groundskeeper.

Unfortunately the disguise was a little itchy. It wasn’t so much a physical itch (though there was a bit of that too) so much as an itch of Aziraphale’s sense of self. He’d worked so long and hard at cultivating a persona in his corporation that it had become a part of him. He missed his books. He missed his coat and his waistcoat and his well-tailored trousers all kept in such good repair. He missed—

A knock at the door interrupted Aziraphale’s musings.

He opened his mouth to ask whoever was there to go away, realized that wasn’t something kindly old Brother Francis would say, and floundered for a moment as he tried to think of something more in-character.

“It’s me,” Crowley said before Aziraphale had fully decided whether or not to put back on his disguise and answer the door.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale nearly sighed with relief. He unlocked the door between them with a wave of his hand. “Come in, my dear boy.”

Crowley had used his own voice, but it was Nanny Ashtoreth who entered. Her mouth started to press into its familiar flat line as she watched Aziraphale stare.

“What?” Crowley broke the spell by still being Crowley, and Aziraphale could have hugged him for using that familiar petulant tone of voice. Good old Crowley! Always more of a brat than proper enemy.

“Wouldn’t you like to change into something more comfortable?” Aziraphale asked meaningfully, jumping straight over hint and running across the finish line of request to continue sprinting halfway to outright begging.

The fact of the matter was that Nanny Ashtoreth with her perfect posture and her unreadable expressions made Aziraphale extremely nervous. When he looked at her he could see hints of the demon Crowley could have been if he took a properly sadistic demonic glee in it. He could not see Crowley’s spark of goodness in Ashtoreth, couldn’t imagine her saving his books or following him around Europe bailing him out of tight spots at the eleventh hour while steadfastly denying that was what she was doing. Nanny Ashtoreth was not the sort of person one fraternized with.

Crowley looked down at Ashtoreth’s smart little suit, not a single thread out of place, and made an indistinct noise of agreement. “Guess I could. This isn’t really my style.”

Aziraphale allowed himself a small smile of relief.

The hat was first to go. Crowley took it off and tossed it over his shoulder to disappear before it hit the ground. He shook out his perfectly pinned curls until his hair fell in soft waves to his shoulders. As Crowley unbuttoned his blazer it turned into his usual boxy one, only his shirt underneath bewilderingly shrank into a lacy sort of camisole. There wasn’t much time for Aziraphale to linger in his confusion over that choice before Crowley’s hemline raised several inches as his conservative woolen skirt changed for a leather miniskirt. His flat, serviceable shoes were delighted to find they had become a pair of sexy snakeskin pumps as had always been their secret dream.

“Now this is more me,” Crowley said brightly as he twisted this way and that to look down at his outfit. “Hmm. Missing something.”

“I should think you’re missing half of your clothes.” Aziraphale looked pointedly at the smooth, bare skin of Crowley’s exposed legs.

“Aziraphale.” Crowley rolled his eyes. If he was in the habit of saying things like ‘old fuddy-duddy’ he probably would have called Aziraphale one. 

It wasn’t Aziraphale’s fault his tastes had lagged behind the times by about half a century. It was just that people used to have a sense of propriety, of finery. They’d always dressed their best when they were out because one never knew who might see them, and now anything went. Aziraphale had no idea how Crowley was so good at keeping up with all that nonsense. 

Crowley’s heels clacked on the hardwood floor like cloven hooves as he paced, thinking no doubt of how to make his ensemble more immodest and… Aziraphale abruptly turned away to go sit on his sofa and forcibly cut off his train of thought. The shoes turned Crowley’s usual distracting swagger into something completely obscene. Aziraphale was an Angel of the Lord, a Principality to be precise. He couldn’t—not with a demon in any case. It didn’t even bear thinking about.

“I know!” Crowley stopped and followed after Aziraphale to stand in front of his old adversary and friend. With a snap of his fingers he was suddenly wearing some interesting fishnet stockings with a contrasting design of snakes made up in a different weave of net complete with little forked tongues flicking out that spiraled up and down Crowley’s legs. “What do you think, angel?”

Aziraphale sighed, trying not to look at Crowley directly. “They  _ are _ very you.”

If Crowley reacted to that in any way it wasn’t verbal because Aziraphale didn’t hear anything and wasn’t watching when Crowley collapsed onto the sofa next to him. It was small. More of a glorified loveseat than anything. Crowley’s knee brushed against Aziraphale when he stretched his legs out in front of him and crossed them at the ankle in a sprawl that was rather demure for him. Thank the Lord.

“So. Let’s recount the deeds of the day,” Crowley said dryly. “Today I tried to convince Warlock to kill a spider, but he ran to get a glass so he could catch it instead. He took it outside to spare its life.”

“That’s good! He's merciful.” Aziraphale brightened up and half turned to beam at Crowley. His leg pressed more firmly against Crowley’s, but he had business to focus on now. “It looks like he’s taken my words to heart after all.”

“He also threw a temper tantrum because one of his little mates has a toy he hasn’t got. That’s covetousness.” Crowley shrugged. His vest top rode up on his flat stomach. “You might be right though. That’s pretty normal for a kid. He might turn out alright.”

“Right,” Aziraphale agreed even though he was busy wondering where all of Crowley’s body hair had gone. Had the demon shaved it or just miracled it away? Why? He hardly had to pretend to be a proper nanny here, and his disguise covered all the way up to his neck.

The corner of Crowley’s mouth quirked up. “Are you feeling okay, Aziraphale? This is important. This is the fate of the whole world we’re talking about.”

“I know that,” Aziraphale snapped. Why were Crowley’s hip bones so sharp? That couldn’t have been natural. “I just don’t have anything to add.”

“Mm well.” Crowley drummed his fingers on his thigh. 

“Well?” Aziraphale prompted, hoping that ‘well’ was going to proceed a ‘suppose we’re done here so I’ll get out of your hair, my dear’ or however Crowley might phrase that sentiment.

“Guess that’s all I had,” Crowley said. Aziraphale only had a moment to rejoice before Crowley uncrossed his legs and his thighs fell open ever so slightly. He stretched and pressed his legs against Aziraphale’s knee for a moment as he reached over the arm of the couch to grab a bottle he pulled into his lap. “Drink?”

“No. I shouldn’t.” Not here. Not now. Maybe never again. Drinking seemed to lead to Aziraphale agreeing to do things he really shouldn’t have done.

Crowley settled his miracled bottle of wine more fully into his lap so it naturally settled down in the dip between his legs. His hand slowly dragged down from the neck to the base of the bottle to support it in place in a motion unmistakably reminiscent of a sex act, and that was it. That was really it.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said sternly. “Are you trying to seduce me?”

“Is it working? I mean, no! Of course not!” Crowley sat bolt upright and then seemed to realize that looked incredibly suspicious and slouched back into the cushions.

“You are.” Aziraphale fixed Crowley with the cousin of the look he pinned on customers who seemed to be seriously looking for something to buy. The expression was kind of like the face a teacher makes when they catch you causing trouble red-handed and want you to know they hold the keys to either your pardon or punishment.

“Don’t be sssso full of yourssself,” Crowley hissed. The bottle was gone, and he seemed to be trying his best to cram himself in the corner of the sofa in the hopes that he’d disappear down between the cushions and the arm. He wasn’t quite thin enough. It would have worked if he had been a snake.

“Why?” Aziraphale asked to encompass a wide variety of questions like ‘why are you doing this?’ and ‘why now?’ and ‘why go so far when I already adore you as you are?’ Not that Aziraphale would ever dream of voicing that last one aloud.

Crowley withdrew on himself even further. “Forget it! I’m leaving.”

This felt important.

This time Aziraphale caught Crowley’s legs when he kicked them out to start scooting off the sofa out of his undignified sprawl and held them in his lap instead. It was far more deliberate physical contact he normally allowed himself, but he needed Crowley to stay put for a minute while he figured out what was happening. He ignored the way Crowley hissed and sputtered as he went over the facts:

  1. Never in the thousands of years they had known each other had Crowley ever tried to tempt him sexually before tonight.
  2. Crowley had never tried to tempt Aziraphale to do anything unless it was either (a) mutually beneficial or (b) beneficial solely to Aziraphale, thus absolving Aziraphale of the guilt of indulging alone.
  3. Obviously Crowley was a demon. That was a given, and as a demon, he was incapable of properly expressing virtues and the related positive emotions that Aziraphale could.
  4. Yet Crowley _did_ have a kind streak. Somewhere deep down the switch for feeling positive emotions must not have been quite switched off properly in Crowley.



Aziraphale absently rubbed Crowley’s knee with his thumb, registering somewhere in the back of his mind that the way the pad of it caught on Crowley’s fishnets with each stroke was rather nice. He was sure he almost had it now.

If Crowley could feel positive emotions but couldn’t express them, maybe there was something good that he wanted. Maybe Crowley’s inherent infernal nature was mucking things up and preventing him from just asking or twisting what he really wanted to be asking into something else; Aziraphale had, after all, seen Crowley perform acts of compassion of his own volition but only ever when couched in several layers of sarcasm and longsuffering. Crowley  _ did _ seem embarrassed about his hasty attempts at seduction. Maybe Aziraphale just needed to show a little patience to get at whatever was underneath.

“Crowley, why did you come here tonight?” Aziraphale asked gently.

For a few long moments Crowley didn’t say anything. He inspected his nails as he said, “I wanted to see you out of your disguise.”

“I've had the same face for thousands of years. I can’t imagine that seeing it is this exciting to you now,” Aziraphale teased, unable to suppress his amused smile. “I didn’t think lust was your style.”

“It’s not,” Crowley shot back in a very stiff voice. “I’m trying new things. Don’t know if the world will end in seven years after all. So, er, well. Just forget it. I know you’re an angel and you can’t... You know.”

“I can’t what? Tell how lovely you are? I’ve always been able to see that, my dear. I do have eyes.” Aziraphale chuckled.

“You, er, I’m! You what?” Crowley yanked his legs out of Aziraphale’s loose grip and scrambled onto his knees to kneel at Aziraphale’s side. “You can’t be serious. You’d never. No. You couldn’t. You’re an angel. Lust isn’t in your vocabulary.”

“Nephilim,” was all Aziraphale managed to get out as a counter argument before he suddenly gained a lapful of demon and Crowley’s hungry mouth was on his.

The kissing was nice.

Crowley’s lips were soft, his tongue insistent, and he cradled Aziraphale’s face in both hands gently, so gently like he was holding something precious. Aziraphale could taste Crowley’s desperation and endured Crowley’s sunglasses digging into his nose and forehead until Crowley pulled away to push them up out of the way.

Crowley’s eyes flicked back and forth across Azirapahle’s face. “This is a sin.”

“I don’t see how it is if we’re both two fully consenting ageless entities. I don’t think anyone else  _ could _ have experienced enough to fully give consent to you like I can.” Aziraphale only had a moment to turn over that thought in wonder before Crowley startled him with a strangled sound.

“This isn’t a hypothetical argument!” Crowley grabbed Aziraphale’s hand and dragged it under his skirt where an obvious bulge lurked. “Can you lower yourssssself to fuck a demon? Sssully your temple with me?”

That was quite the question.

The Almighty had to have known what Aziraphale and Crowley were leading up to all these years; She must have been allowing it. She must have known how much Aziraphale would come to cherish Crowley. So who was to say that this wasn’t meant to happen? This had to have all been part of the Plan. It had to be.

Aziraphale’s feelings for Crowley were… ineffable.

Aziraphale got his hands under Crowley’s thighs and stood slowly, giving Crowley a chance to settle those long legs around his waist before he answered, “I can give you what you need.”

\---

What Crowley needed appeared to be kisses judging by the way he lapped greedily into Aziraphale’s mouth as he was carried to the previously unused bed. He sat back up to push his blazer off of his shoulders after his back hit the bed and threw it aside so he could reach for Aziraphale. Then there were more kisses, so many more kisses. Kisses for Aziraphale’s lips. Kisses across his cheeks and down his chin. Sucking open-mouthed kisses for his neck as Crowley’s clever fingers carefully opened his clothes to sneak inside and claim all the skin they could reach.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale started.

“Don’t.” Crowley wouldn’t meet Aziraphale’s eyes. “Don’t make me be sssincere.”

Aziraphale nodded.

Maybe after this they would speak but for now Aziraphale could listen in other ways. He didn’t claim to be the best at reading people, wouldn’t even say he was very good at reading Crowley half the time, but intimacy was a conversation. Aziraphale believed in God’s grace. He believed in Crowley's and his self-appointed mission to save all the Creation they both loved so much.

He would help Crowley any way he could.

Crowley pulled Aziraphale to himself, giving as much as he took. He rucked his skirt up, and with a snap of his fingers his knickers were gone. The fishnet stockings turned crotchless.

“Oh,” Aziraphale pulled out of Crowley’s reach and tilted his head to the side.

Visual art had never really been Aziraphale’s focus. He’d always been more interested in the written word and the myriad ways humans observed the world through their limited perspectives. He wondered as he ran his hand up Crowley’s thigh how his favorite authors would have described Crowley like this. What would they have said about the feeling of smooth skin through the holes in the rough net stockings? What metaphor could possibly capture the way Crowley trembled under Aziraphale’s touch, pressing into Aziraphale’s hand even as he turned his head to look away? How could words subtle enough to paint a picture of the way Crowley lay still half-dressed and yet utterly naked before Aziraphale even exist?

It would probably be too trite to describe Crowley as a marble statue come to life, and yet Aziraphale couldn’t help but think of the demon as a willing Galatea as he wrapped a hand around Crowley’s erection and found it already wet.

Aziraphae’s eyebrows shot up. 

“I’ve had enough foreplay. I’m ready,” Crowley choked out. 

On a hunch Aziraphale pressed two fingers to Crowley’s perineum, feeling a sloppy wetness before he’d quite dipped them down for an exploratory swipe across Crowley’s hole.

“I guess I don’t understand why you would ask for this and not want to take your time to enjoy it,” Aziraphale said. He quashed down the disappointment that he wouldn’t be getting the chance to slowly work Crowley open the human way. It might have been nice to peel off Crowley’s layers and coax him to hardness with the same delicate touch Aziraphale used on his most fragile manuscripts. 

Crowley couldn't answer right away. A low groan was surprised out of him as Aziraphale dipped those two fingers inside to test his reaction. A few slow, exploratory thrusts and Aziraphale determined Crowley did seemed relaxed and ready enough. More was the pity.

When Crowley could speak again beyond a betrayed hiss he said, "I don't see why you would want to draw it out. What are you doing?"

Aziraphale hummed distractedly as he stuffed pillows under Crowley’s hips. The better angle made it easier to grab Crowley’s legs and hook them over his own shoulders, and  _ oh _ , it was lovely how Crowley’s stomach muscles clenched and his flushed prick flopped helplessly up against the dark fishnet that framed it. If only Aziraphale had the time to trace Crowley’s anatomy and try to find the seams were his sleek musculature belied his demonic nature or maybe whatever essence was distinctly  _ Crowley _ _._

It only took a thought to manifest the right equipment to fulfill Crowley’s expectations. Modest in length, thick enough to please, and lubricated because more could never hurt.

Crowley keened when he was penetrated, and Aziraphale had to close his eyes lest he forget himself. This was not for Aziraphale’s pleasure, he reminded himself. This was an outlet for Crowley to say what he needed to say, and Aziraphale needed to pay attention to him and not the delicious heat wrapped around his cock mirroring the low simmer in his belly.

“That’s real. I can’t believe you hngh. For me,” Crowley babbled as he scrambled for purchase. With half his body suspended up by Aziraphale’s shoulders, caught in place by Aziraphale’s deceptively strong hands, there wasn’t much he could do except grasp at the sheets. “You’re so—fuck. I’m! I, uh.”

Aziraphale shushed him. It worked marginally well since at least Crowley stopped trying to form words.

The loudest sound in the room was the creaking of the bed as Aziraphale slammed into Crowley over and over harder and faster as he judged Crowley could take more.

Crowley’s hands both flew up to the headboard to prevent himself from being smashed into it as he slid forward from the force of Aziraphale’s thrusts. 

If Crowley had been a composer (or more likely some ghastly new pop artist type singer-songwriter), Aziraphale might have used some of the following words to describe the composition of his moans: sordid, wanton, loud but belying a surprising vulnerability, the promising work of an irresistible new talent.

Crowley groaned. He sobbed. He sighed. He whined. And finally, finally he looked up and said Aziraphale’s name before he made a mess all over himself untouched.

Aziraphale fucked him through the aftershocks, gently slowing down. There was really no other word to use for it. He was about to pull out and neatly tuck his genitalia away into peaceful non-existence for safekeeping, when Crowley shifted to reach for Aziraphale. 

“Don’t stop,” said Crowley, but his eyes said ‘I love you.’

It was there as clear as anything. Love! In a demon’s eyes! It shouldn't have been possible, and there was nothing else it could be.

Aziraphale shifted Crowley’s legs down so they could wrap around his waist and he could drop himself into Crowley’s waiting arms. Vaguely aware of what his body was doing as his rhythm grew more erratic, Aziraphale stared into Crowley’s eyes. The glimmer of love there only deepened as he cradled Aziraphale’s face in his hands once again. He swallowed the sound as Aziraphale cried out in release not to God as he ought to have for forgiveness of this betrayal but to Crowley.

Only Crowley. Always Crowley.

As Aziraphale dropped himself down next to Crowley on the bed, he was seized with the worry that his time he had truly done the wrong thing. This wasn’t something that was meant to happen; Crowley’s love wasn’t something that he was meant to know. There would be a war eventually regardless of how much time he and Crowley managed to buy. If Aziraphale’s side didn’t destroy Crowley, his own would take delight in slowly torturing him until the light of his love faded and died so hard he forgot there even was such a thing however long that would take.

_ What had Aziraphale done?  _ He had doomed Crowley to die more firmly than he ever had with the thermos full of holy water.

Crowley rolled over to drape himself over Aziraphale. “I can hear you thinking. You should let yourself enjoy the afterglow. S’nice.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered. He didn’t even protest when Crowley snapped to clean their mess and make all the clothes they’d still been wearing disappear somewhere else. “What have I done to you?”

The demon stared at him blankly for a moment before kissing his jaw. “I hope that’s a rhetorical question. You just gave me a hell of an orgasm, angel.”

“What do we do now?” Aziraphale asked in a small, scared voice.

“I dunno. I was thinking we could meet on my day off and talk about what we should do when Warlock gets older and doesn’t need a nanny anymore.” Crowley shrugged one shoulder and leaned up to kiss Aziraphale’s cheek.

Aziraphale wondered if it could really be all that easy.

Nobody had showed up to smite him where he lay naked with the enemy so Aziraphale let himself relax a bit. He let himself turn his head to catch Crowley’s lips with his own. He figured he should probably stop asking questions when he wasn’t sure if he’d like the answers. Wasn’t even sure if there  _ were _ answers. 

All Aziraphale knew was that if there was anything he could do to tip the scales away from the impending Armageddon he would do it. 

**Author's Note:**

> I've got a [writing tumblr](https://heliodorwrites.tumblr.com). I don't use it, but if you want to message me there I will answer. Not that I won't also answer you here too.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
